


love just took me by surprise (looking through your eyes)

by wesawbears



Category: Wiedźmin | The Witcher - All Media Types
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-02-09
Updated: 2020-02-09
Packaged: 2021-02-28 00:49:04
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,451
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22625077
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/wesawbears/pseuds/wesawbears
Summary: When Geralt is injured fighting a kikkimora, he's forced to confront his eyes, the one part of his witcher transformation he can't shake. Jaskier is there to make it better. Inspired by Geralt's comments during episode 8, and based entirely off of show canon.
Relationships: Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia/Jaskier | Dandelion
Comments: 11
Kudos: 464





	love just took me by surprise (looking through your eyes)

Like most complications in Geralt’s life as of late, this current one was Jaskier’s fault. 

Perhaps that was unfair of him to say. Geralt didn’t mind the bard’s company, not truly. Even if he usually let his words and songs just flow over him as they walked, there was something comforting about the sound, even if he would never actually tell the bard that. He reserved that- tenderness, if you could call it that- for the nights they spent pressed together, taking comfort in each other’s bodies, and Jaskier’s constant stream of conversation repurposed into cries and pleas of pleasure. It was simple- as simple as the life of a witcher could get, he supposed.

What wasn’t simple, however, was this hunt. It was supposed to be just a run of the mill kikkimora, easily dispatched. The complication was that Jaskier moved. It was a small thing, just a shift, but it alerted the creature to his presence. And in that moment, Geralt remembered why it was easier not to be connected to anyone, because the sharp spike of fear he felt when he saw the thing move towards Jaskier was dangerous. Made him sloppy. And sloppy witchers were dead witchers.

He strikes at the thing and feels sharp talons slice towards his face, the thing shrieking as Geralt’s sword drives into its heart. It’s a clean hit, killing it quickly. But Geralt is so distracted from trying to make sure Jaskier hasn’t tripped over a root and gotten himself hurt that he doesn’t see the talon falling towards him and is caught by the graze of it against his eye. 

He hisses in pain, but manages to make it to a tree before having to sit, taking calming breaths. Jaskier hurdles over to him, concern furrowing his brow.

“Geralt, are you- why are you sitting? Are you alright? Let me see, you stubborn lug-”

Geralt moves him back, perhaps a bit more harshly than he should, but he’s in pain, damn it. Jaskier, persistent bastard that he is, just presses closer.

“Is it your eye?” he asks, and moves his hand to try and get a look and Geralt just- can’t. He turns his head quickly, away from the gentle touch he can’t bear. 

Jaskier huffs as though Geralt is denying him something important, but backs off. “Stubborn goat...worse than a child, I swear. If you won’t let me look, at least admit that we need to find a healer. Or a, a mage. Something. Kikkimoras are venomous, right? Or poisonous? If it bites you, it’s…”

Geralt has never wanted so desperately to be able to roll his eyes, but he can’t, so instead, he ignores Jaskier’s nervous rambling and stands. His vision is a little foggy, but not gone, so that’s...something. He feels better once he’s on Roach, trusting her to lead him forward. She has a keener sense of direction than Jaskier, at least, and he’s too tired to steer too much, so he’s relying on her to see for him.

Jaskier manages to get them to a town soon enough, and is admittedly rather diligent in finding a healer. For all that Jaskier’s incessant talking made Geralt’s life difficult at times, he could at least admit that having the bard around made for more pleasant town experiences. If Jaskier hadn’t been around when this happened...well, in truth, he probably would have just nursed his eye himself and hoped that it returned to normal with time. 

Now, though, Jaskier refused to leave his side as the healer examined Geralt’s eye. It wasn’t a magical injury, so the treatment was just a salve and keeping it covered and away from direct light. He followed instructions and set off to find an inn, too tired to start the journey back to receive payment for the job. They still had enough to pay for the healer, a room, and Roach from the last job, and Jaskier’s singing would cover the rest. He didn’t stick around for the festivities, just headed up for a bath and rest after wolfing down some stew. 

He tried to relax, but having one eye covered was less than comfortable and it was making him irritated. Injuries were commonplace in his line of business, so much so that he hardly noticed them anymore. But his eyes...they were the one part of being a witcher he could never seem to shake, no matter how he tried. He still remembered seeing himself for the first time after the trials. Everything about him was different, from his body to his hair, but it hadn’t bothered him until he caught a glimpse of himself and didn’t recognize the eyes staring back at him. It was the first time he’d felt less than human.

He hears rather than sees Jaskier enter the room, his jack rabbit heart giving him away as always. “Geralt, I brought you some water, no need to thank me, not that you- you’re shaking.”

Geralt glanced up at him and absently wondered what he must look like. A half-mad beast that’s been caged, no doubt. Whatever he saw, Jaskier tched and knelt in front of him.

“Geralt. What is it? Does it hurt? I can get you more salve…”

“No.”

Jaskier’s lip quirked. “No it doesn’t hurt, or no you don’t want more salve?” Geralt merely grunted and Jaskier rolled his eyes as though he were being exceedingly annoying. “Tell me what’s wrong.” When Geralt refused to answer, he went on. “You never talk about your eyes. I mean, you never talk about,” he gestured in Geralt’s general direction, “any of it. But you get especially touchy when people mention your eyes.”

Geralt sighed. Jaskier was perceptive, and he could read Geralt better than most. “Hmm,” he said, rather than admit that he was right.

Still, Jaskier pressed on, either because he knew he was right or because he had no sense of self-preservation. The two converged annoyingly often where Jaskier was concerned. “What did they do to them?”

Geralt closed his eyes. He was tired- so tired. “Another story for your songs? The first person to actually know about the witcher trials?”

Jaskier’s face flickered with hurt, but he quickly schooled it back into concern. “I wouldn’t exploit something that’s actually hurting you.”

Geralt nodded and was quiet for so long that Jaskier sat back, assured that conversation had ceased for the night. When he spoke, Geralt surprised even himself. “There was a...potion that they poured over our eyes. It burned like-I’m not a poet. But it burned. They kept us in the dark while it worked. That’s what I remember. Just...dark and burning and waiting for the screaming to stop. When morning came, I was alive and could see more than I ever had. Many others were not.” He looked up to find Jaskier’s face uncharacteristically hard. It was unfamiliar, and Geralt found it disconcerting. “Truth of it all too much for you?”

Jaskier shook his head. “I’m not disgusted. I’m angry.”

Geralt tilted his head. He couldn’t fathom what about the story would make Jaskier upset at him. Before he could ask, Jaskier clarified, “I’m not angry at you. I’m angry that this was done to you.”

“...why?”

“Because...because they changed your body and somewhere along the way they convinced you that it had changed your mind as well. Who you are.”

Geralt leaned back and tipped his head back, humorless laugh on his lips. “And who am I to you, Jaskier?”

The bard walked closer and framed Geralt’s face with his hands, pulling it back to him. “You, Geralt of Rivia, are the most astonishing person I’ve ever met.” Before Geralt could answer, Jaskier leaned forward and pressed his lips to Geralt’s, gently, but with all the passion he held in his body. 

Geralt held tightly to the bard’s waist and pulled him in until he was seated in Geralt’s lap, legs on either side of him. When they pulled apart, Geralt moved his hands to cup Jaskier’s face. He kissed his forehead before resting against him. “If I had my way, I would keep you right here, like this.”

Jaskier chuckled a little breathlessly. “Why?”

Geralt inhaled right at the crook of his shoulder and neck. “Because you’re...good. Good and bright and vulnerable. Here I can keep you safe.”

Jaskier smiled and brushed Geralt’s hair back. “I thought you weren’t a poet.”

“Shut up, bard,” he said before kissing him silent himself. He felt the smile on Jaskier’s lips, tasted sunshine and took in the life that surrounded Jaskier like a breath of fresh air and allowed himself the comfort of home in his arms.


End file.
